Personal Declarations
by headup-gorgeous
Summary: This whole time she had thought that everything was about him what she was going to give him, to offer him, and allow him. But this, what she was about to do, had to be completely about and for her. [slight.HouseCameron][R&R][NewChapter!]
1. ignorance is not bliss

Go find someone else – In letting you go – I'm loving myself

Nothing was the same anymore; the broken pieces from her fragile heart didn't fit right as she tried to piece them back together again. And try she did, fighting in vain against the rising tide that threatened to over take her. All she hoped was to keep her head above the level but still she was swept under and held. Spots of black danced through her vision as she struggled to just hold on, this was the worst things could be and it had to get better from here, their disastrous date and the awkward tension that followed had to be karma, but it wasn't until Stacy's return that she was shown the true depths of pain unrequited love could bring.

I thought you couldn't love anyone. I was wrong; you just couldn't love me

It seemed that there was no absolution in sight for her from the position that she had placed herself in. Forget the fact that he didn't feel the same way, the part that really hurt was that he took it a step further by jading her feelings, and assuming that her attraction was based purely on her passion to help and heal. She wasn't attracted to him because he was broken; it was in spite of him missing a few screws.

But now the time had come for her to make a decision for self preservation, for the sake of her sanity. She wasn't sure that this wasn't going to kill her. She was lying when she told him that she jumped on the "band wagon". Every night she went home to an empty house with her empty soul and half a heart; with her tears for company. Even House had someone, more like something; the Great Steve McQueen.

Cuddy was going to catch on that something wasn't right amongst the ducklings under House's control; that woman had a six-sense when it came to things like tension surrounding the group. And even the patients could tell that the temperature dropped ten degrees when Cameron and House were in the same room; the length of her spine would straighten like a ramrod while House fought to keep his gaze from landing on her. After a few moments of spine-tingling tension, Cameron would turn on the heels of her platforms and quickly exit the room. The only remainder of her presence would be the sound of her heels tapping on the tiles of the hallway toward the elevator as she made a rushed exit, her head still held high. A haste move to the lab, most of the day it was guaranteed that the room would be empty except for the occasionally employee couples making out in the connected storage room.

Hunched over the microscope, lost in the never ending samples that entered the lab with no one to process them, she happily took up the slack as a way to blank her mind and erase her thoughts relating to him. Finally the stack was finished and all the correct paperwork in order. It seemed that she no longer had a reason to hide out down below. Titling her head back, she winced, the muscles in her shoulders and nape of her neck bound and wrapped around each other in knots, and her spine would pop, giving momentary relief.

Even after successful avoidance, she wasn't any closer to getting herself out of this hole that had dug. She let herself admit defeat for the moment. Quickly filing the rest of the paperwork, she grabbed the full folders and started to move upstairs. Feeling the tension starting to build once again as she stood in front of the reflective elevators doors, the tip of her shoe tapped an erratic rhythm on the tile. It stopped in mid-movement. Who was she? Locking gazes with her reflection in the mirror, she couldn't even recognize the look of her blue eyes. When had they glossed over? The color in her cheeks paled and her lips thinned. At first, she thought that she was looking at someone else, until she caught sight of her earrings.

This was her; this was what loving House had caused her to morph into. Someone that she didn't even recognize, much less understand. Reaching forward, she pressed the palm on her hand over the reflection of her face, blocking out the image that was burned into her retinas. She didn't even register the cold smoothness of the metal. It was the 'bing' signaling the elevators decent that awoke her.

Startled, she drew back, as if stung, and bolted toward the stairs. Her quickened pace echoed in the empty hall; matching the increasing beating of her heart against the barrier of her rib cage and sternum. Reaching the foot of stairs, the tension melted away into determination, rippling through her veins and heating her blood.

She inhaled deeply through her nose before parting her lips and exhaling fully in an attempted to calm her breathing and erratic heartbeat. Lifting her free hand and placing it on the cylinder wooden handrail, she took the first step upward. One step after another, left right; left right. The first floor, her destination mere footsteps away. She stood in front of a glass sliding door to the carpet less office floor of House's room. Even with her determination going upward she couldn't find the strength to reach for the handle.

The original plan was to just write a post-it and stick it on his desk with a simple message; a few words with no signature, her writing style would be enough of a give away. Something allowing him to understand; but standing there she was struck dumb by a sudden epiphany. This whole time she had thought that everything was about him; what she was going to give him, to offer him, and allow him. But this, what she was about to do, had to be completely about and for her. A silent reminder that she was allowed personal things and this was a personal declaration.

Taking another shy step forward, she stood a breath away from the glass door. The exhale of warm moisture against the cold glass caused condensation to form; a foggy patch that vanished as soon as it appeared. Taking another deep breath through her nose, she managed to create a much larger patch of condensation on the window. She brought the tip of her finger to it, and through the moisture she wrote her message and silent declaration. Gazing at it, she read the message, making no move to wipe it away, as it slowly started to disappear around the edges and sink into the glass.

Allowing the corner of her lips to upward, she took another breath and backed away to from the door, moving toward her own space shared with the other ducklings, unknowingly passing the prone figure of Gregory House, who had stumbled across the event. He waited until she was well within her own room before making his move. Hearing the sound of the wooden door close, he couldn't resist his curiosity at the note his little duckling had left in such an interesting manner.

Hunching over slightly using the handle of the cane for support, he took a quick breath and blew it out over the same spot where she had stood only few moments ago. Eyes darting around the barren hallway, he was half concentration as the words appeared like warriors through the fog. Ice blue eyes widened, wooden cane creaking as he tightened his grip.

Came to say

Goodbye Love

Her private declaration was now his personal curse. Cameron: one; House: zero


	2. the price of being passive

**I couldn't take the embrace of a real romance  
it'd race right through me  
I'm much better off the way things are  
much much better if, better by far, by far**

**  
**

Cameron was always a smart cookie; one of those students who gave their teacher's shiny red apples. The fact was that she was finally able to let him go and it wasn't vicious or used as an attack. Completely passive, just like Cameron's personality; unless you got her riled up, then things got interesting. Even as the color's of the world bled together and melted off the walls like acid rain, the memories brought a delusional smile to his lips.

Since day one, when she was sitting there sorting his mail just because there was nothing else to do, he hated it. The whole thing sickened him. Ms. Allison Cameron was a shinning textbook example of a doctor, if Barbie decided to ever come up with an immunologist doll, he would be sure to send in a picture of Cameron as a model; a breathing proto-type.

**Came to say **

**Goodbye Love**

How fucking cliché. Everything about her was a cliché, but on the opposite end of the spectrum, she was also an enigma of the highest level. Everything she did went against everything he was convinced she would do, when he _knew_ that she zig, she defined logic and instead zagged. She distorted his whole view on life. Everyone lies, that was the only thing that had gotten him through life; holding steadfast to that mantra. There wasn't anymore shock when people let down, went back on their word and left him in the dark. Stacy being one of those few, promising to stay by his side yet jumping ship at the first sign of rough waters.

Though he would never tell her, Cameron had seen him at his worst; even at times when Wilson had ducked for cover and she'd merely batted her eye-lashes. And after all this time he had taken for granted that she wasn't going to leave him, when she told him that she hated him, they both knew that it was a joke even if she tried to convince herself otherwise.

But now she had done the one thing he had been expecting, pulling the rug out from under him. Just when he had stopped trying to push her away she goes and has to make things easy for him.

Reaching up, the message had long since faded back into the glass panel leaving him standing there like fool staring into an empty room. But she was there, sitting in his chair, sorting his mail and fiddling with his music; as clear as the glass before him he could see her. Standing up, the outfits and hairstyles altered, shifting in a colored blur, but the look on her face; the one of complete calm etched across the plans of her face.

Blinking rapidly, the edges of her form smeared like wet paint and melted into the background, a ghost of the past when, he finally realized that the roughened tips of fingers had been dragged across the top of the message effectively distorting it.

** to **

**Love**

To Love; what a concept to the lone doctor, but he knew what love was. Dr. Gregory House loved; he loved his piano, his vicodin, and the thrill of his profession. Irritating Cuddy and mocking Foreman and Chase ranked close up on the list, even in his own fucked up way he loved Wilson in a completely master/slave platonic relationship-type way though he would sooner double his clinic hours and swear off painkillers for Lent then tell him or anyone. Each one held a certain amount of pleasure for him, but watching Cameron was his guilty pleasure. Whether it was watching her working and interacting with a patient or admiring her cute round ass in those sectary light colored pin skirts she wore on occasion.

The expressions that would play over her face gave him the same thrill as when he succeed in solving a case and discovered the correct diagnosis. The flashes of light that captured the flecks of different colors that darted over the iris of her eyes.

Closing his eyes, he reached for the handle of the door and with a quick jerky movement yanked the door open, flinching when a rush of cold air blew past him, a sure sign that Cameron hadn't entered the room. Subconsciously, she seemed to know that the cold affected the muscles in his leg, and always turned the temperature of the room up a few degrees so that is was warmer then the rest of the building when he finally arrived.

Limping over to his chair, he hooked the handle of his cane over the edge of his desk and plopped down, not even glancing out the glass panels to observe the patrons and employees of the hospital dash about. Tuesdays always seemed to come and go in the blink of an eye. His next movement was to reach over to press on the power to his radio, the rhythm of a local alternative rock station floated through the air. Grimacing, he was about to change the channel when the lyrics caught his attention.

_Your brain is faulty wiring_

_The reasons are tiring _

_Keep treating the curse imagine the worst_

_Systematic; sympathetic quite pathetic _

_Apologetic; Paramedic _

_Your heart is prosthetic _

_Give me recipe for happy with the chemicals gone_

_Drinking' freedom from a bottle to the tune of belong._

It seems that Cameron had left the radio on her favorite station, though how she could actually listen to this crap was beyond him; maybe it was one of those 80's things that he missed. Couldn't remember much of the 80's now that he thought of it. Unwittingly, he found himself unable to change the channel, his hand hovering in mid-air over the dial while the lyrics took on physical form and attack, taking the offensive. Sharp as knifes yet small as needles, they pierced his skin and drew blood. And so he sat there, immobile; seemingly innocent as the pool of blood pooled around him seeping into the carpet.

Eyes burning as the reality finally set in; he was truly alone; lost in his own mind. After dozen years of being called brilliant, intelligent and a genius, House realized how truly naive and stupid he was. Too busy stereotyping and assuming; left too much out the box that he didn't bother to look at and explore.

_I'm sick of shaking never waking from the hell I achieve_

_I never knew you till you left me with the crying disease_

_Another curing reassuring way to buckle the knees_

_So mistreated I repeated never blessing your sneeze_

_Now deleted and defeated I will stand on my own_

_Yea your memory that punches me has broken the bone_

_Give me recipes for sorry I'm admitting I'm wrong_

_But your memory that punches me still has broken the bone_

What a blatantly erratic song, yet it described him. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on the wooden desk top and interlaced his fingers, while keeping his pointer fingers pressed together, forming a triangle. He rested his chin on the support proved by his thumbs balanced on either sides of his jawbone. Ice blue eyes slipped shut as the final chorus of the song faded, just before two familiar voices started to echo down the surprisingly vacant hallway. Cracking open one eye, he reached over to flick off the power switch to the stereo and instead focus his attention toward the conversation that was occurring. Rising from his position, he forfeited the use of his cane in exchange for silence as hobbled to the glass door and poked his head through the open space to see Cuddy and Cameron conversing. Cuddy has a serious look on her face while Cameron's was thoughtful and completive as she gazed down at the folder that was offered to her. Gnawing on his lower lip, he held his breath in hopes of catching the tail end of the conversation.

"This would be an excellent opportunity for you to advance in your field Dr. Cameron." Oh, Cuddy was pulling out the big guns for this one; must be a serious issue. If possible he was even more interested in figuring out what was going on.

"I will have to think about it, but I do promise to give it a considerable amount of thought."

"I understand, this is a big step but with your record, as well as your past credits, this is the next logical step upward. You weren't planning on staying an intern here under House when the immunology department would be eager to have you were you?"

"I will read over this paper work and get back to you." The rest of the conversation was white noise, an annoying and irritating buzzing as his mind blanked; this was it. Signed and sealed was the end of their relationship, cap the pen and seal the envelope. At least with her in the diagnosis's department he had a chance to continue to converse with her, a reason to hold a conversation, make eye contact and walk down the hallway side by side.

"Very good, I'm sure that House will be sorry to lose such a promising intern."

"Only when the last of the coffee has run out," Down, down and further still; six feet and dropping as the nail was hammered in the coffin and pressure started to build. Placing his hand on the handle this time from the inside as he watched with a detached fascination as his trembling hand shook the whole door as he fought to slide it closed.

**I won't always love what I'll never have**

**I won't always live in my regret…**

**Kill me, hit me and knock me out**

**And just let me go back to sleep…**

Limping slowly back over to his desk, nearly throwing his head back so that the exposed nape of his neck rested against the back of his chair while reaching out with one hand to fumble around the drawers of his desk to look of the spare bottle of painkillers to fight off the growing pain.

Tomorrow he would congratulate her, throw in a few witty and sarcastic remarks, and pretend that the whole world hasn't just lost its color. When he would set foot hobbling through the hospital tomorrow he would pretend that everything was okay.

But right now, he wasn't even going to try…


End file.
